Hospitals are funny places

Hospitals are funny places, in many ways they are like airports, all those souls coming and going, the backdrop being the emotions of those people who love and care about them.

Whilst on your journey, you never know what you are going to get. Each day is a different experience, sometimes you get a window seat, and sometimes you are on the aisle. Sometimes you are wedged in between children and mothers who you would never normally meet in your everyday life. Some get off after a short while; some are in for the long haul. You just don’t know. When you ask, the nurses say “your baby will go home when he is ready to”, there really is no other response to this except to sit down, make yourself as comfortable as possible as you are now headed for Holland instead of Italy.

I ponder on this often; I want to have a dialogue with God and tell him that he has it all wrong. This is not what I signed up for! All we wanted was a second child to complete our happy little family, a brother or a sister, we don’t mind, our requirements are simple; happy and Healthy. At this point in the journey we have neither! What were you thinking? I want to ask God, you’ve sent us the wrong baby! But the Universe knows what it is doing; I just didn’t know it at the time. There is a wonderful quote by Erykah Badu; “children are not sent to you but come through you. Our role is to nurture and help them to develop their gifts”. Later on in the journey I realise how important this quote is.

During this chaotic phase, a wonderfully kind mother pops something into the cubby hole at Ashton’s nursery school which reads; “welcome to Holland”. I read this and weep, it describes exactly what I am feeling and I want to hug her for giving it to me. It makes me feel that I am not alone on this journey, many other people have walked a similar road and they know how it feels, it is a source of comfort and I read it often.

Back in the ward, I realise that there is nothing to really differentiate us mothers. It doesn’t matter, what race, religion, colour or tax bracket you are in, we are all levelled by this experience, we are all in the same “plane” and the one thing we have in common is that our children are sick. There is an unwritten and unspoken code here; no-one voices anything out aloud except that as you walk into the Paediatric ward as a mom everyone knows what to do. There is the initial politeness but after hours of feeding, cradling, vomiting and screaming, the stories begin to unfold. Some of those stories are not mine to tell, but two have stayed with me.

During one of the many weeks, in another room was a Grandmother who was referred to only as “Gogo”. In her broken English she explained that she had found the new-born baby in distress and crying. She picked up the baby and took him home not really sure what else to do, she took him to the hospital where he wasn’t given much of a promising prognosis. At that time she explained that she made a deal with God. “God” she said “if you let this child live, I will take the very best care of him that I can”. The child lived and they went home.

Then there was another family from an outlying farming area. The parents looked somewhat aged which after hearing their story, I realised weren’t chronological age, but age that seemed etched on their faces as a result of stress and wisdom at the same time. They didn’t appear to be young enough to still have a baby. Their story was that the birth was incredibly complicated and during the birth the baby’s heart stopped. The mother explained that she had an out of body experience and connected with her baby who explained to her that he wasn’t sure whether he still wanted to be a part of this world and wanted to return to “heaven” but was caught in between the two universes. She said that there wasn’t anything to be afraid of but that she would go with him. As a result both of them “passed away”. However, the medical team back at the hospital were having none of this and brought them both “back”. The baby recovered quickly as they are wont to do, but mom took much longer and spent weeks in a coma. This meant that Dad had to do the parenting for a long while. This journey had aged them physically but all three of them were there in the ward with us, alive and mending.

I reflect on what a wonderful father Dave has been. He pretty much had to stop just about everything else that he was doing to pitch in to help me take care of Ashton. As I mentioned earlier, the Universe knows what it is doing. I waited a long time to have children, both Dave and I wanted to ensure that we could provide for children in every way possible and as a result when Ashton was born, I absolutely fell in love with him. I had waited a long time for him. I felt like he was mine, and I think I kept him all to myself for a long time. Ashton and I have an incredible bond and I knew the instant that I was pregnant with him, words fail me to describe the experience but physically I knew when he arrived and bizarrely I had a vision of Luke behind him but it was to be another five years before he made his arrival in this world. As Ashton grew Dave was often a bystander, but when Luke was born I was physically incapacitated and Dave had to be Mr Mom. He and Ashton became very close over that period and finally bonded beautifully. The Universe works in mysterious ways. We tried very hard to protect Ashton from what was going on around him, as we knew that there was a chance that Luke might not actually make it, but thank God that wasn’t to be. During this time, he seemed to intrinsically understand what was happening without verbalising much. He ties a white ribbon around our front door and instructs us “not to remove it until Luke comes home”. I realise that this is a Talisman and we follow his instructions. The word “Talisman,” derived from the Greek verb “teleo,” means, primarily, to accomplish, or bring into effect.

During that period Ashton played “the baby game” intensely with Maria (our maid) almost as though he was playing out what he wanted to be the reality of the situation and he and Maria made many dolls out of paper bags which Ashton would cuddle and cradle and he named the baby “Luke”, prophetic, perhaps but when Luke was finally born, there seemed to be no more fitting name for him than Luke – bringer of Light.